The children of Kumbakonam
By Lillian D'costa

Thousands of children die per day in this country from mal-nutrition
and preventable diseases,
so why do you cry for me.

We were just 90 among the billion,
You could have (easily) 90 more,
So why do you cry for me.

Lakhs of children like me roam the streets, collecting garbage,
Getting whipped and brutalized by the police and strangers,
So why do you cry for me.

Multitudes of children like me,
Work in brick kilns, carpet making, weaving, bangle making,
the fire cracker industry,
And die maimed, a shortened life and a painful death,
So why do you cry for me.

Lahks of children before me and countless after me,
will have their dreams and hopes and emotions, trampled and charred,
Like our bodies in Kumbakonam,
So why only do you cry for me?.

Don't make an exhibition of me.

I don't want Mrs Indira Gandhi sanctioning one crore for our families,
I don't want Tamil Nadu to order all schools to change their thatched
roofs,
Another excuses to sanction money that never reaches the poor like me,
Another excuses to buy of the pain in my mothers breast,
she cant produce another me.

I don't understand this country,
That cares so little about its future generation,
Who will siphon out money meant for the education and health of their young
citizens,
Who will inject fake medicines and choke them to death,
Who will sit in their AC rooms, not breath the air I breath,
not hear the cries I hear, not eat the worms I eat,
and nonchalantly plan my future.

I don't think I want to be born in this country again.

9.53 a.m
21/7/04

C.R.Bijoy